


Damned If You Do

by SnowWhiteKnight



Series: Do Or Don't [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Prize Fic, Shakespeare Inspired, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5722015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowWhiteKnight/pseuds/SnowWhiteKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joffrey told her to seduce the Hound.<br/>Joffrey told him to protect Sansa's virtue.<br/>Whoever fails, surrenders their life.</p>
<p>Who will win and who will die in Joffrey's perversion of the Game?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Challenge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SassyEggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/gifts), [omj319](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omj319/gifts), [Jennilynn411](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennilynn411/gifts), [LittleRaspberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaspberry/gifts), [AdultOrphan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdultOrphan/gifts).



> Prize fic for the winners of the First Contest from a previous work.
> 
> 3rd Place, Rating - Omj319: Explicit 
> 
> 2nd Place Canon or Modern? - AdultOrphan: Canon
> 
> 1st Place, Prompt - SassyEggs: Post-BBB where Sandor does not desert. Joffrey orders the Hound to babysit Sansa one night in the king’s private chambers, tells him to protect her virtue under penalty of death. Enter Sansa, dressed in practically nothing. Turns out, her orders are to seduce the Hound, and if she is unsuccessful SHE will be put to death. Neither one of them knows what the other has been told, but when the Hound covers her near-nakedness with his cloak Sansa gets suspicious and blurts out her orders, and he tells her his own orders. It’s Joff’s idea of the perfect punishment for them- one of them will die, the other will be the cause of it, and they both will endure utter humiliation/torture in the process. So who will win, and is there any way out of it? 
> 
> Honorary Mentions: Jennilynn411 and LittleRaspeberry
> 
> Of the three winners, only one requested a pairing (it was part of the prize). I offered again, but nope. Anyway, there are five cameos, guess who's who? I didn't receive a lot of feedback on who wanted to be what, but I took what I was given and I hope everyone is satisfied with how they are presented. If not, I'll try to make it up to you somehow! Promise. And if you think I should try something like this again (or not), please let me know!

“My lady,” one of the new handmaidens said. “The king asked for you to wear this to your...assignment this evening.”

“Asked, or ordered?” Sansa inquired. Shae raised an eyebrow as she took the garment from the new girl. The second girl elbowed her discreetly, but Sansa saw it anyway. They never expected her to be observant. “It’s fine if it is an order, I would just like to know.”

“It was an order, my lady,” the first girl bowed her head. Her hair was tied back into two short braids that met in a pony tail, allowing the remainder of the shoulder length brown locks to flow down in unruly curls. A similar complexion to Shae, Sansa wondered if she was also Lorathi.

“Very well. Thank you for telling me.” Sansa sighed. _Might as well get on with it,_ she thought. Shae prepared the garment as the two other handmaidens helped Sansa undress. “You are?” she asked the curly haired one.

“Olive, my lady,” she replied. Sansa turned to the second one.

“Mila, my lady,” she said. Her long straight brown hair and pale complexion was a stark contrast to her fellow handmaidens.

“Who assigned you to my service, Olive and Mila?” Sansa asked as they helped her out of the ill-fitting dress. She took a deep breath, enjoying the freedom of her almost nakedness.

“Lord Tyrion, my lady,” Olive answered. “He said the queen had enough issues to deal with, and that we would be in your service until he or you say otherwise.”

“The lord said that?” Shae asked. The other two stared at her for speaking out of turn, but Sansa gestured for them to answer.

Mila spoke up, “He did. You are Shae, correct?” Shae nodded. “He told us to follow your lead when it comes to serving Lady Sansa. That you are familiar with her particular...situation.”

Shae cocked her head to the side, confused by the vague words.

“She means the fact that I am a prisoner of the crown,” Sansa said helpfully.

“Oh, then just say that then!” Shae exclaimed. Sansa giggled as Olive and Mila looked flabbergasted by the idea.

“You will get used to her,” Sansa assured them. She turned to Shae. “Have you figured out the dress yet?”

“Yes...you’re not going to like it.” Shae shook her head. “It covers you up, but you can see regardless.” She held up the garment. It was more of a robe than anything else, but she could see what Shae meant. The fabric was sheer and she could easily see through it. It covered her completely, but hid nothing. She gulped. The smallclothes that came with it were serviceable, but did nothing to help her modesty. _He is either making this easy for me, or he’s up to something._ The latter was more likely. She couldn’t possibly think of what, but knowing Joffrey, it wasn’t anything good. The thought of Sandor seeing her in this... _will he like it?_ That was beside the point, and she tried to ignore the fluttering in her tummy.

“Shae, I need you to get a message to Lord Tyrion.”

“He’s indisposed for the rest of the day, Lady Sansa. He has awoken from his injured state of sleep, but he is on bedrest and is not to be disturbed,” Shae said. She sighed unhappily. Sansa had only recently become aware of her favorite handmaiden’s relationship with the Imp.

“His man Bronn could get it to him,” Olive suggested. Sansa turned to the girl. She cast her eyes downward, “Forgive me, my lady! I did not mean to…”

“It’s alright, Olive. You are correct, Bronn would be able to get to Tyrion. Shae, please find Bronn and have him arrange a meeting immediately with Tyrion. Take Olive with you, just in case. Tell Tyrion everything you know about my _assignment._ Hopefully, he will be able to help prevent...whatever fallout the king expects to happen.” Olive and Mila held mirror expressions of horror at her semi-treasonous statements, but Sansa was past caring. This _assignment_ could very well be the end of her. She looked at the garment again. Her tummy fluttered a bit more from the idea, but it was not due to fear. _I am a Stark. I will be brave. If it had to be anyone, than I’m glad it was him. I will do as Joffrey ordered. I will seduce the Hound. Or surrender my life._

**********

The Hound paced angrily in the bedchamber. He wore only part of his full set of armor. The entire thing would be too much for this setting, and would end up hindering more than it helped. This set of rooms was normally reserved for visiting dignitaries, but was currently empty. The luxury of it alone was more than Sandor would ever earn in his lifetime. He had already made a preliminary sweep. The rooms were easily defendable, and there was no one hiding it to surprise him. Joffrey’s words rang in his ears. _Keep the Stark bitch under lock and key until morning. Protect her virtue or the penalty will be your head._ He had known that Joffrey would punish him for abandoning the battle, but this...this was obviously a trap.

_Wonder what the little cunt has planned? This “punishment” is too easy. He could easily send in the gold cloaks. Or angry residents from Flea Bottom. They were happy enough to try and rape her when they thought it could be masked by the riot. If they received “permission” from the fuckin’ king...where the hell is she anyway? Should have insisted on bringing her here myself._

He turned at the sound of a door opening behind him. Sansa walked in with one of her handmaidens. For some reason, she was dressed in a Northern style cloak, one that covered her fully from neck to toes. “Mila, if you would please ready the room for the evening,” Sansa asked the short woman. She bowed her head and busied herself, lighting the fire in the hearth and preparing the bed. Sansa walked out to the balcony in the meantime. Sandor followed her, stopping short of joining her to make sure the handmaiden didn’t do anything to jeopardize the defenses of the room. She was new, and Sandor wasn’t about to trust her. Not yet, at least. The insolent one came in just as Mila was done turning down the bed.

“Where is she?” the insolent one asked. _Right, Shae, her name is Shae._

“Balcony,” the Hound replied, gesturing with his head. Shae marched past him, ignoring his withering glare. Mila, on the other hand, shrank and ran past him.

“Don’t worry about him,” he heard the Lorathi woman say, “He won’t hurt you unless you pose a threat.”

“Where’s Olive?” he heard Sansa ask.

“She stayed behind. She will be a runner for them. Also, I think Bronn is a bit smitten for her.” A pause. “You remember all I told you?” Shae asked. He couldn’t see if Sansa nodded or shook her head, but Shae continued. “This will be over in the morning, my lady. You are strong. You can do this. If worse comes to worse, you are prepared.”

_Seems she’s being punished by my presence, as well as whatever Joffrey has in store for tonight._ He only hoped that whatever Shae told her would be of some use. The Lorathi woman was not to be trifled with.

Sandor cleared his throat loudly. “Time to go, handmaidens. Scurry off to your beds. You can collect your lady in the morning.” Shae and Mila walked back into the room, Sansa trailing behind them. A knock at the door startled them all. Shae open the door, the king and Ser Meryn, along with three servants carrying trays of food and wine. So much wine.

“Your time in here will require you to miss the evening meal,” the king said with a smirk. “So please, feel free to indulge in some of the royal kitchen’s finest cuisine. A fine haul of oysters and sea vegetables came in this morning. There are also several imports, I hear that my father was quite partial to the cacao desserts from the far eastern continent. Various fruits, passeon, red melon, mangot. You will find that it is all _very enticing._ Have a good evening, Lady Sansa. Dog.”

Sandor frowned as the king sauntered out with Meryn and four of the servants. The insolent one, Shae, was whispering to Sansa. She nodded her understanding to the handmaiden and soon they were alone in the comfort of the chambers.

**********

Sansa stared at the table of food. Specifically at the foods the king and then Shae had pointed out. “Natural aphrodisiacs,” Shae had said. Oysters, sweet cacao, honey, the buñuel flat bread, the fruits...all of them could aid her in her seduction. She remembered Shae speaking of the buñuel before when it was served at a banquet honoring some lord or another. Shae had jokingly warned her not to eat too much, that the mixture of spices that flavored it was what gave it that sinful quality. She had thought it silly at the time and had eaten lemon cakes instead, but if it helped, then she would feed it to the man with her own fingers. The idea of him licking the sugary spice mix from her hand sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

She looked over at Sandor, who was frowning at the food and downright scowling at the wine. She had a feeling he’d end up picking up a wine skin. His good side was facing her and she studied him as he assessed the selection on the table. He would never be considered comely, or even handsome, but there was something pleasing about his face. She found it comforting, even with the scars. His scars...they had ceased to scare her, and she knew he would never hurt her intentionally, though the rage in his eyes could still make her flinch on occasion. If it had been any other man, she would have taken her own life already, instead of accepting the king’s _assignment._

He had stayed with her the night of the battle. He had nearly left, even torn off that bloodied white cloak of his before walking away, but once he got to the door, he had stopped. He had his hand on the bolt, but he did not unlock it. She saw the trembling in his shoulders, the silent sobs. That was when she knew he couldn’t leave her, and it had softened her heart even more to him. He said nothing as she took his hand and pulled him back to the bed. He said nothing when she helped him remove his armor, his overtunic and his boots. He said nothing when she lay next to him, holding him tightly as the battle continued through the night. He had been gone when she woke up the next morning from a pleasant dream. His torn cloak and his scent on her bed were the only evidence that he had been there at all.

They hadn’t spoken of that night, though every night for the past two weeks, she had dreamt of the possibilities of what could have happened. Dreams that left her wanting and desperate for his company. However, Sandor had been demoted from the Kingsguard and was currently on the king’s unfavored list, much like Sansa was. Sandor, at least, seemed to have a chance at redemption, while Sansa had to play the king’s idiotic games for her own life. She didn’t mind the assignment she had been given, only that Sandor was now on the receiving end of the king’s horribleness. She wondered how he would react if she told him why she had to do what she was going to do. _He would willingly accept it, I think, if it meant my life would be spared, but then, I would never know if he did it to save my life or because he really wanted ME. I am fairly certain he does, why else would he have come to me that night, when his fear overtook him? Why else would he have stayed when he could have escaped this wretched place?_ She didn’t want to think about why it was important. That would be dangerous. _Survive tonight, think about the consequences later. The Imp will be of no immediate help. You only have yourself to count on right now._

She smiled when he reached for a wine cask. _Dornish Sour, of course._

**********

_Just a little wine, just this much won’t dull my senses or reflexes,_ he told himself. His nerves were frazzled after the visit from the king, and the wine helped take the edge off. His suspicions on what the little cunt had planned were beginning to waver from an onslaught of attackers to just one. One pretty little attacker that he could not defend against with his sword. _Well, not a sword made of metal,_ he thought morosely.

Ever since the night of the battle, she had been at the forefront of his thoughts. He had thought it all to be a wine dream until he woke up in her arms, her soft body flush against his hard one. _No pun intended._ He had allowed himself several moments to enjoy it, memorizing the feel of her. The likelihood of it ever happening again was slim, at best, should the king not have him beheaded for abandoning the battle. Her sleep was deep, and she did not waken when he untangled himself from her and redressed himself. Madness took a hold of him when he took one last look at her. That was his reasoning for stealing a kiss, for letting his hands wander over her delectable curves. And fuck him sideways, she responded, moaning as he kissed her, arching into him as he massaged her plump teats. It took everything he had to not wake her up and fuck her right then and there, but the illusion that she wanted him as much as he wanted her would have been broken.

It was just as well he hadn’t, now that her virtue was the only thing between him and death. _But what a way to go,_ he thought. _It might almost be worth my head if I could have hers._ He chuckled darkly at his own humor.

“My lor--, erm, Clegane, is something humorous?” she asked. He smirked at her.

“Nothing you would find to be so.”

“Oh, well, shall we dine? I find myself to be quite famished,” she started towards the table and picked up a plate.

He scowled at her. The presence of that all-covering cloak she wore was bothering him. It was a cumbersome thing, so why did she still have it on? If she was the “attacker” he had to watch out for, what use was it to cover herself like that? Her only weapon was her body, so why the cloak?

“I am fine, little bird. You eat your fill, then off to bed with you. I have to stand watch.” She frowned at him, but collected food on her plate. _Even when displeased, she is still pretty._

“If you’re worried about...sitting to eat and not being able to take action at a moment’s notice, I could...maybe, feed you,” she suggested, her cheeks turning pink. “If you’d like.”

He would like that, he’d like that very much, but that was a dangerous thing for her to suggest. _What the hell did that handmaiden put into her head?!_

“I said I was fine. Eat your food, then bed.” She frowned her pretty frown again. Sandor would have found it amusing if this entire evening didn’t stink of a fucking trap.

“This room...it’s secure, isn’t it?” she asked after a few minutes. He nodded. “Then, surely, you can take a small reprieve. I...It would would make me feel more at ease if you did so. Right now, my tummy is all tied up, and I do not think I could eat much, if anything.”

He sighed heavily, then strode over to a nearby chair and plopped down in it. “Does this make you feel better, little bird?”

“Yes, Clegane. It does.” She gave him a small smile, and this one reached her eyes. Some of his tension uncoiled at the sight.

“You can call me Sandor,” he said before thinking. She looked at him in surprise. “If you want. Clegane is fine as well. It’s just...after that other night… Clegane is fine.” He felt foolish and wished he had kept his damn mouth shut. _What is it about her that has me yammering like a green adolescent?_

He felt even more like an uncut whelp when she sat on his lap with the plate of food, his cock standing at attention nearly instantly. “Hold this, please,” she said. He was at a loss, all the blood rushing away from his brain, and held the plate for her as she got comfortable. She granted him another smile and wrapped one arm around the back of his neck. Plucking a piece of fruit from the plate, she held it to his lips. He ate it without thinking. A brighter smile, and he ate another piece. Some juice from the fruit dribbled down his chin from his mouth. He froze when she _licked_ the juice up like it was nothing. Her little pink tongue cleaning the sticky liquid all the way up to his burnt lip.

_Too close, she’s too close. Fuck, what the hells am I supposed to do?!_ He couldn’t let her continue, but he couldn’t shove her away either. Especially not when she was looking at him like that, like she wanted to lick more, wanted to taste more, like she was the hunter and he was the prey. The completely paralyzed prey, who didn’t mind being eaten at the moment. She picked up another piece of food from the plate, though he honestly couldn’t say what it was, not until she gently pushed it into his slightly agape mouth. Rich velvety flavor exploded over his tongue, sending tingles to his brain as he chewed and swallowed the sweet treat. “What was that?” he asked, his voice softer than he had intended.

“Cacao candy,” she said in an equally soft voice. “Will you feed me one as well?” When he didn’t move, she took the plate from his hand and placed it on her lap. She picked up another piece of the brown candy and placed it in his hand. He could feel the candy begin to melt from the heat of his fingers. She brought his hand closer to her, so that she could eat it. He held his breath as she licked the melted candy from his fingertips, sucking on his index finger lightly. How he managed to not spill himself in his breeches right then and there, he could never say.

She blushed so prettily, setting aside the plate and moving his hand from feeding her to underneath her cloak. He felt a soft material, silky, and then a plump piece of flesh he recognized. He gulped. She wore no corset, and her nipple was already erect, poking the palm of his hand. He wondered if the other was the same. Her other arm wrapped around his neck as well, her eyes fluttered closed as she tilted her head up. Her lips were soft against his and tasted of cacao. He nearly lost it again when he felt her tongue begin to invade his mouth. _Where did she learn this?_ He didn’t like the thought of her practicing on another man. The soft kiss became hard as he sought to claim her, mark her, make her forget any other man. She didn’t resist his harshness, and met him with equal hunger, moaning into his mouth again, like she had when she slept. He let go of her breast and fumbled for her cloak fastenings. He felt the thick fabric fall away, leaving only the silky garment underneath.

_“Sandor,”_ he heard her say. How he had dreamed of her saying his name like that, full of want and desire. He could almost believe she meant it. But she didn’t. How could she? How could anyone, most of all her? The reminder broke the spell. He pulled away from her gently. His breath was fast and shallow as he leaned his forehead to hers. She whimpered and tried to kiss him again, but he turned his head. “Sandor,” she pleaded, “if I do not kiss well, I apologize, but let me try again, please? Tell me what would make it more enjoyable to you.”

“It was a fine kiss, but I can’t…” he opened his eyes and saw what she was wearing. Both nipples were indeed erect, he noticed inanely. His eyes drank it all in. Every perfect curve was on display, her small clothes as well, though they were more like what the whores on the Street of Silk wore. The fabric of her dress was completely sheer and left nothing to his imagination. Well, more like it completely _fueled_ his imagination, since he could now imagine what her long legs would look like wrapped around his waist, how her cunt would look when he fucked her good and proper, how her teats would look when he sucked on them. _Fuck._ He closed his eyes again. He unwrapped her arms from his neck and lifted her gently from his lap, placing her on her feet as he stood up as well. He only opened his eyes enough to find her cloak.

**********

“Sandor?” she asked as he picked up her discarded cloak. She hated the way her voice trembled. “Is something wrong? Did I not do it right?”

“No, little bird, you did it just fine,” his voice was more hoarse than usual and he couldn’t look her in the eye. _Please! Look at me, Sandor, look at me!_ Her heart was being squeezed. She should have felt relief, shouldn’t she? Despite the penalty that awaited her, she should feel relieved that he didn’t want to violate her. _Does he really not want me?_ She had felt the evidence under his clothing that he did. So why did he not take her as Shae said he would? Was she so undesirable to him? Death was preferable to that truth, she realized. If it was him, it wouldn’t be a violation of her body. If it was him, then she would gladly give him her maiden’s gift.

“Why won’t you look at me?” she whispered, her hands clenching at the sheer fabric. She was close to tears, but she refused to let them fall.

“If I do, I won’t be able to stop with just looking. If I look, I will need to touch. If I touch, I will need to taste. If I taste, I will need all of you. And the king--” he stopped, his jaw clenching. _The king? What about the king?!_ “Please, little bird, just get in bed under the covers and stay there until morning. I will stand by the door.”

She narrowed her eyes, “No.”

He still did not look at her, _“NO?!”_

She shook her head, even though he could not see her. “No. Not until you tell me what the king has to do with this.” She put her hands on her hips. She could see a vein pulsing  in his forehead. “Sandor, tell me now. Or I will start removing more clothing.” He closed his eyes again. _He’s thinking._ She wondered when she had been able to decipher the minor changes in his facial features as she waited patiently for him to decide. He didn’t take long.

“The king is punishing me. I assume he told you something differently, all for a good jape. I am to protect your maidenhead on the penalty of my life.” She gasped at that. “I can only assume he told you to seduce me or risk a beating.” She nodded, still in shock and did not bother to correct him.

_His life...or mine...for my maidenhead? Joffrey is surely going insane! Who thinks up this kind of punishment? Well, Joffrey, obviously, but…_ She huffed internally. _How dare he treat Sandor like this?! He’s been nothing but loyal to a brat of a prince and now king. Threatening my life is one thing, but Sandor’s…_ She stopped. _My life...or Sandor’s…_ One of them would die. There was no getting around that fact. Even _if_ Joffrey came to his senses, he wouldn’t take back anything. Her life...or his?

_There really isn’t any choice, is there?_ she thought. She knocked the cloak from his hands and kissed him.

“Little bird!” he croaked. “What--?”

“As long as my maidenhead is intact, you will live, correct?” she asked him. He nodded. “Well, then, surely there are _other_ things we can do, that do not involve that.” He sucked in a breath sharply and nodded again. “Tell me, and I shall fulfill as many of them as I can before the sun rises.”

He wiped away a tear from her cheek. “You’re crying.”

She smiled at him, praying he did not see the sadness in it. “Tears of relief, my love. That you were honest with me, and that we can foil Joffrey’s awful plan for you. I promise you, you will live and we will make tonight one that neither of us will ever forget.”


	2. Loophole

He kissed her gently. “Are you sure?” he asked, wanting to kick himself, but if they went further and she changed her mind, he would feel like gutting himself. _But she called you ‘her love’, why would she do that unless..._

“I’m sure. Would you like for me to shed this ridiculous garment? It’s not really covering me anyway,” she asked, pouting a little towards her clothing. He growled and yanked it off of her. “I’ll take that as a yes. What about yours--” He yanked off his armor and tunic, discarding it to the floor. She smiled as he pulled on his breeches, the laces getting tangled and forming knots.

He was about ready to pull out his dagger and just slice them off, when she stilled his hands. She pulled him to the bed and had him lay down. She sat on her knees in between his thighs, patiently working the knots until they were undone. Her fingers brushed against his cock as she worked the laces, and he felt a light _thrum_ vibrate throughout his body every time. He held his breath as she pushed back his breeches and pulled out his member. Her hand was cool, her delicate fingers wrapping around him in stark contrast to the darkened, heated skin of his thick cock. She stared at it, fascinated. “Is it ok if I...if I explore you for a little bit?” she asked shyly. He nodded and breathed in sharply as she lightly traced a vein with her thumbnail.

“Does...does it hurt? When it’s like this?” she asked.

“No, and yes. It’s different from the kind of pain you mean. It’s a good sort of ache, I guess.” He was enjoying her light, inquisitive strokes. “You can be a little rougher, if you want. I’ll let you know if it’s too much.” He lay his head back. “And let me know when you want to switch to something diff--” He raised himself up quickly to lean on his elbows. He threw his head back almost immediately. Sansa fucking Stark had her mouth on him. He could feel that little pink tongue of hers on the head, licking at that spot where the nerves gathered on the back of the head. “Seven hells, girl, where did you learn about this?!” he rasped.

She paused briefly to say, “Shae told me. Told me to be careful for my teeth. She also told me to try this.” She hollowed out her cheeks, and he grabbed the bedspread, tense with pleasure. He swore he would not spill so easily, not let a green girl make a green boy out of him. _At least, I am still young and virile enough to go at least once more if I did, maybe even twice more for her._ She let go of his cock with a pop of her mouth. She went back to stroking it, a blush in her cheeks as she bit at her lip. “Sandor, I feel strange.”

“Strange how?” he asked, a little breathless.

“My breasts...my...um, my n-nipples, and my...um, my w-woman’s place, all feel different, and strange, and tingly. My skin...it feels light, and like it’s buzzing, but in a good way, but I really want to be t-touched as I t-touch you.” Her face was incredibly red as she spoke. Sandor beckoned her to come closer. He didn’t trust his voice right now, but she seemed ok with it as she crawled up over his body. He pulled her body down to be flush with his, taking a kiss, his hands roaming. She mewled happily. It was a novel experience for him. The last few of his times at the brothels, he paid for two women, not to service him, but to play with each other and let him watch. He paid close attention to what they did, how they touched each other.

The women were confused at first, since he was known for being efficient in his dealings with whores, but then relieved that he wasn’t fucking them. He had ignored that part, since he hadn’t been all that interested in fucking them either. They even seemed to enjoy pleasuring each other in front of him. The next time he came in and requested it again, they were delighted to repeat the performance, with even more enthusiasm this time. They even explained to him what they were doing to each other. He had never been sure why he had done it, but now that Sansa was arching into his touch, he was very glad that he did.

He slid his hands down her sides and to her backside, grabbing a hold of her ass and squeezing. She must have liked it, since she moaned into the kiss and he felt a slight wetness against his abdomen from her “woman’s place”, as she had called it. He chuckled softly, her shy nature would never cease to be an amusement. Leaving one hand on her ass, he slid the other further down behind her until his fingers found her cunt.

“San~dor,” she groaned as he slid his fingers along her opening. He felt a raised nub and she stiffened when he brushed his fingers against it. _That must be what the whores were talking about, the clit,_ he realized. Gently, he found it again and rubbed, circling his fingertip around it. Sansa whimpered, her kisses becoming more harsh and even a bit frenzied. Her fingers were gripping his shoulders and he wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up leaving marks later. Her hips were bucking slightly against his hand. Keeping two fingers on her clit, he slipped another inside her, finding an easy rhythm between the movement of her hips and the slight thrusts of his hand. She broke the kiss, panting heavily. She locked her gaze on him, baby blues full of lust and staring at him. _Him._ He had never felt so powerful, not even after a battle or a tourney. She kept her eyes on his as her climax washed over her, uttering his name in a way he hoped to hear often in the future, but knew was unlikely. She collapsed on him, her chin digging into his collarbone, though he didn’t mind it too much.

“That…” she mumbled. “What was that?”

“Has the little bird never touched herself before? Explored her body?” he rasped in her ear. She shuddered. “That distasteful?” She shivered. “Little bird?” Another shiver. “Cold?” Another shiver and she shut him up by kissing him.

“I really enjoy your voice,” she whispered.

“My voice? Why?” he asked, very confused. “It’s...not good,” was all he said. It hadn’t been the same since he was burned.

“It’s wonderful, Sandor. It’s yours. It’s low, and raspy. You speak when you need to, not just to hear yourself, giving your voice power. It sends grown men running. It sends shivers down my spine. Used to be out of fear, when you glared at me with those angry eyes. You were always so angry with me, but now, now I look forward to hearing it, to hearing you. Those shivers are very pleasant now, especially after…well, after what just happened.”

Sandor wasn’t sure what to say to that. He had never liked his voice, but he had never thought about what it could do to other people.

“So,” she said hesitantly, “what just happened to me...is that what happens to you as well?”

He grinned. This was more familiar ground. “Yes, but differently. Trust me, you’ll notice when it happens.”

“So it didn’t happen to you when it happened to me?” she asked with a hint of disappointment. He shook his head, but he was smiling at his naive little bird. “What can I do? I wanted to make you feel good, but it was me that…”

He kissed her. “Never said I didn’t feel good. There’s pleasure to be had from giving it. Not the same, mind you, but I did enjoy watching and causing you to come.”

“You did?” she asked incredulously.

“Very much so,” he whispered in her ear, just to feel her shiver again.

“I want to watch you,” she said boldly, though her cheeks were going to be permanently stained red after tonight.

“Do you now?” he teased. She made a face at him, but nodded. “Alright then.” He rolled them over so that he was above her. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if you don’t like it.”

“And if I do like it?” she asked.

“Trust me, you make your likes very vocal. I’ll know.” She made another face at him, but he laughed and kissed her nose. Next he kissed her cheek, then her jaw. He licked at her lips, but denied her a kiss there. She pouted but soon forgot when he kissed his way down her neck and shoulder, and then nibbled his way across her collarbone. Her moans and mewlings pushed him forward in his exploration. She had yet to complain of his amateur seductions. It almost made it believable that she could love him. _There is a lot you can put up with when you love someone,_ he thought, remembering how Jaime has put up with Cersei for so long.

“I...I thought...you…not me...” she said breathlessly. He knew what she meant though.

“This helps me,” he said. “But if you want to help?” She nodded. “I’ll tell you when, but for now, I can’t think of anything.”

“Can I...touch?”

“Yes,” he said, preoccupied with working his way in circles around her breast with his tongue and lips. He wanted to use his teeth a little as well, but it wouldn’t do to leave marks on her soft skin. He felt her delicate hands on his shoulders, tentatively stroking and rubbing his skin, as if she was fascinated by it but still timid and unsure of her actions. Her touch was warm and welcome. Another novel experience, she wanted to touch him, she enjoyed his touch. _Hells, I made her come earlier! She wouldn’t do this with someone she didn’t...at least care for._

“Sandor…”

“Mmhmm?” He had a mouthful of her at the moment.

“I...I feel...my...my woman’s place…”

He shifted, moving back up to face her. “You mean, your cunt?” he asked teasingly. Her eyes went wide, her blush increased. She nodded. _Definitely going to be a lasting look on her,_ he thought fondly. He was in between her thighs, his cock resting on her mound. He could feel what she was trying to say. “Is your cunt wet, little bird? Does it want my cock?” More blushing. “I’ll take that as a yes. Too bad I can’t fulfill both our needs the direct way, but…” he took one of her hands from his shoulders and wrapped it around his cock. She swallowed nervously, but allowed him to direct her actions. “Keep your hand there, but keep it relaxed. I’m going to thrust into your hand. You’ll feel me rub against your cunt, so it should feel good for you, too.” He leaned down to kiss her. He liked feeling her tongue move with his. She moaned as he began to thrust against her. Her wetness coated his cock, allowing him to move easier, though the angle was odd since she was also holding him in her hand. It did create an interesting sensation. He knew it wouldn’t be long for him, especially with the way she was kissing him. The angle became easier when she wrapped her legs around his waist, his thrusts became harder and more erratic. She pushed him away. He didn’t understand at first, but then realized she wanted to see him come as he has seen her earlier. He stared into her blue eyes, her slightly agape lips as she panted, her blush from both the exertion and the scandalous actions. Her hair was strewn about, tangled and lovely. _Hells, you’re just as beautiful as I thought you’d be._

“Say my name,” he demanded. This may be the closest they would ever get to actual fucking, he wanted to hear his name on her lips. If he had to watch her marry some pretty lord later on, he at least wanted to have this memory.

“Sandor,” she moaned. “Sandor, Sandor…”

He spilled almost violently onto her stomach. He needed to rest, but she hadn’t come yet. Sliding down, she protested a little when he nestled his face between her thighs, but once his hungry mouth was on her cunt, she ceased. He lapped at her juices, enjoying how she squirmed and writhed, though he had to hold her thighs so she didn’t clamp down on his ears. He tried to remember what the whores had said. _Make a figure eight with your tongue on the clit. Alternate direction every once in awhile. Pay attention to how she reacts. If she doesn’t like it, ease up on the pressure, kiss the surrounding area, then try again after a little while. When she gets close, go off center, but “dab” at it again intermittently and…_ She came with a slight rush of wetness and a cry of his name. _I am never going to forget that sound for as long as I live._

**********

She watched him as he put his breeches back on and made sure the windows and curtains were open enough to air out the room. She liked to watch him move, watch his svelte skin and rippling muscles. She asked questions. It made him slow down so she could watch him longer. Why open the windows? He told her that as much as he enjoyed the scent of their near coupling, it wouldn’t do either of them any good to be found out by it. He had used another word, but she felt scandalized to even think it. She had blushed, but didn’t admit she enjoyed the scent as well. It was proof of what they had, and it made her sad that this would be only time for it. Why straighten up his armor? He patiently replied that armor is costly, and his even more so, so he had to take care of it. Why did he have to wear his breeches to bed? He made an odd face that she couldn’t interpret, but said it was for both their well being. She felt a more than a little emboldened to then ask, why did he insist that he clean his seed from her stomach when she could have done it herself? He kissed the top of her head for that and said he couldn’t be a knight from her stories, but he could at least clean up his own mess. That made her heart flutter a little.

“What should I tell the king?” Sandor asked when they were both back in bed and she settled into his arms. She wore an abandoned shift she had found in the wardrobe. It was for a wider person than herself, but it was clean and it wasn’t see through, which was the most important part to her. He left the remainder of his clothing with his armor.

“Tell him...tell him I made a fool of myself, that I drank too much wine, that I threw myself at your feet and begged you to have your wicked way with me. Tell him that even as pretty as I am, I was not able to tempt you because I was too drunk to even be semi-alluring,” she replied.

“You’re going to suffer a punishment for it, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.

She smiled sadly at him and nodded. “It’s worth it, to save your life, to share what we shared here tonight. I wouldn’t trade it for anything else in this world. Well, maybe for the opportunity to go further.” He grinned at that.

“Maybe add in that you were sick?” he suggested, going back to the previous topic. “Made a mess on the floor.”

“What if he comes to check the room?”

“He won't,” Sandor assured her. She had her doubts, but acquiesced to Sandor’s opinion. Despite the penalty waiting for her, she fell into a pleasant sleep and dreamed of the possibilities they could have had.


	3. Accept The Inevitable

The dawn came much too soon. Someone knocked on the door. Sandor was already awake, or maybe he hadn’t slept at all, and answered it. She had slept well, wrapped in her lover’s arms. _That’s what he is now, isn’t he? My lover. Or am I his? Either way, I can only hope he forgives me for my deception and will remember me fondly._ Shae rushed in, followed by Mila, Olive, and another handmaiden, a woman that Sansa did not recognize. She had a friendly smile, darker skin than Shae or Olive, and her thick curly hair was bound in an exotic twisted braid. _Not dark enough to be a Summer Islander, not Lorathi, possibly Bravoosi?_

“Good morrow, Lady Sansa,” the woman said, curtsying. Shae was pushing Sandor out of the room.

“Jacqui,” Shae said, “the sheets, if you will.” Sansa rose from the bed. Mila and Olive helped her out of bed and began undressing her from the borrowed shift. The unknown woman, Jacqui, threw back the blankets to reveal the white and unstained bedsheet beneath it. “My lady?” Shae asked her questioningly. Sansa shook her head and Shae set her mouth in line. “Very well. Jacqui, take these sheets to the king. We will head back to Lady Sansa’s usual chambers if he should need to send word to her.”

Sansa welcomed the drab brown dress the handmaidens had brought for her. It was the only one that fit her semi-decently, and after her night with Sandor, she didn’t want to dress up for anyone else. They hadn’t even reached Sansa’s chambers when the gold cloaks came for her.

They ushered her, not to the black cells as she had feared, but to a tower cell. If she forgot about the fact that she was imprisoned, then she didn’t mind the musty room all that much. The pallet was no featherbed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, even had a thin layer of a mattress beneath it. The cell was clean, for the most part and the view was actually quite amazing.

A guard came with food at midday. The king came in after that, followed by Trant and Sandor, and three of the small council: the Queen, Varys, Petyr Baelish and Tywin Lannister. Trant was the only one pleased to be there, aside from Joffrey.

“A fitting setting for the daughter of a traitor,” Joffrey smirked. “My dog told me how you tried to ‘seduce’ him. I only wish I could have seen it for myself.”

 _I almost wish it as well,_ Sansa thought darkly, though she kept her face expressionless. “I apologize, Clegane, that I was not able to satisfy you to the degree you deserve.” She saw the happy twitch on the burnt corner of his mouth and she knew he understood her comment. The scowl on Baelish’s face confused her.

“Tomorrow morning, you will suffer the consequences of your failure,” Joffrey said. A look of confusion washed over Sandor’s face, but was quickly replaced by his usual stoicism. No one else noticed. “However, just to be sure, a septa and septon will be visiting you to make sure that you are still a maiden.”

“Your grace, surely there must be a better way to...erm, _punish_ Lady Sansa,” Baelish said. “She is still…”

“I don’t _care,_ " Joffrey snarled. "I will eliminate _every_ Stark I find, I will completely wipe their line from the face of this earth and burn Winterfell to the ground, just at Grandfather eliminated the Reynes. The North will be mine, without the help of _any_ Stark.” Joffrey’s eyes were dark with fury, maniacal. “She will serve as a reminder that anyone who defies me will suffer the wrath of the rightful king. That goes for anyone on the small council as well. Argue with me one more time on this, and you will join her on the execution block.”

The queen and Hand looked at each other, but said nothing. Their mouths were both set in tight lines. Sansa wanted to laugh. _This is the king you put in power! This is the child you raised in your image! The Reynes must be laughing at you from their seats in the afterlife._ Joffrey turned on his heel and left. Baelish rushed after him. Trant was behind him, as were the queen and Hand. Only Varys and Sandor stalled. The eunuch looked at Sansa and then back at Sandor, and sighed. He seemed to make up his mind about something.

“Clegane, if you would please watch this prisoner for a few moments, I will let the king know I have requested your services.” Varys left, making no noise despite the rushes on the floor.

When they were truly alone, Sandor spoke angrily, _“You lied.”_

“When?” she asked. He clenched his jaw. He couldn’t argue with an omission, considering he had done it enough times.

“You should have told me," he roared, his hands clenched so tightly, his knuckles must be turning white. His voice dropped down to a weak sob, "I could have...I would have…”

She was in front of him in that instant, her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. “I know, my love. I know.”

He shook, with anger, with fear, she wasn't sure. _“Why?!”_ he demanded. “Why save my life?! I would gladly die for you! If you had told me--”

She placed her hand on his mouth, quieting him. “It is _because_ you would do the exact same thing for me. It's because I love you. Starks protect the ones they love, even with their own lives. I told you, my punishment is worth what we had last night. You would say the same if our positions were reversed. I know you would, and you would laugh about it.”

He didn’t argue with that. “I could just do it now, take your maidenhead, prove you a liar.”

“You wouldn’t force me like that,” she said softly. He didn’t argue with that either.

“I’ll kill Joff. Take you away from here...” he whispered in a ragged voice. She shook her head.

“No.”

“But--”

“Sandor, if you kill the king and steal me away, we will become fugitives, pursued to the ends of the earth by Cersei and her minions. If I were to live and be able to stay with you, I would want it to be away from this place and in peace. Promise me you won’t do anything foolish that will get you killed,” she demanded. He clenched his jaw again and said nothing. _“Promise me!”_

“No, I can’t. I--”

She grabbed him on either side of his head. “Swear to me, Sandor! Or I _will_ renounce you and my love for you.” His eyes went wide, in shock, in surprise, or maybe even in fear. _“Swear it!”_

“I swear! I will not do anything foolish that will get me killed.” The look of pain in his eyes reached Sansa. Her requested promise extracted, she gentled the grip on his head and kissed him softly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” she whispered, continuing to rain light kisses on him. “If I could change this, I would, but I would never regret what I’ve done. I just want you to live and to find happiness. You deserve happiness.”

**********

He trudged down the stairs. The eunuch was speaking to Sansa and had asked him to wait at the bottom of the tower. Varys had told the king that he was borrowing the Hound for the afternoon. Joffrey was still upset that Sandor wasn’t the one to be beheaded, since he had apparently lost a bet to Trant, and didn’t put up a fight about it.

He felt a tightness in his chest, a lump in his throat. _She loves me. Enough to die for me._ Part of him wanted to drive his fist through a wall. Another part wanted to smile and sing thanks. A third part, and the most dominant at that, mourned the loss of his potential… _What is she to me? A lover? A friend? Whatever we are… We could have been good together. Even if she had eventually married and left King’s Landing, left me, we would have been together for a time. That could have been enough._

Varys came down shortly after. “I will be staying with Lady Sansa for a time. Please go to the Sept and retrieve the septon and septa.”

Sandor nodded and left without a word. If some of the Lannister soldiers received black eyes, bruises and possibly broken bones along the way, he wouldn't say anything about that either.

**********

“You are sure about this?” Varys asked her when he returned.

She nodded. “If he is willing, then yes, I am sure. After the inspection, of course.”

“Of course, my lady,” Varys bowed respectfully. His usual titters and giggles gone, Sansa found the master of whisperers to be quite a somber fellow. She began to turn away from him, when he spoke again, “My lady, if I may?” She nodded at him to continue. “A beheading is an awful thing. I can not save you from death, but I would like to offer you an alternative.” He produced a small vial from his sleeve.

A dark blue liquid was contained within.  A memory of a lesson from Maester Luwin came forth, one of the saddest stories she had ever heard of ill-fated lovers. She gasped, “Is that…”

Varys nodded and handed it over to her. “Sweet poison. It takes a few minutes to take effect, but it is more peaceful than a beheading. You will die, but it would be at your own hand. Take it at dawn, and I can guarantee you will be attended to by the silent sisters immediately. I can also arrange for your body to be transported back to Winterfell. My little birds tell me that it is currently occupied by a squid, but a bastard flayer will retake it for the Young Wolf. Or, I could arrange for it to be taken to Riverrun.”

“Riverrun, please. They will keep my bones safe until it can be returned to my home. I have a feeling it will be a while.”

“Of course.” He moved soundlessly to sit down on the available chair. “Lady Sansa, what do you know of Lord Baelish?”

“Why do you ask?

“I believe he may come to try to help you tonight. I realize that you probably know him better than you know me, and that you may not trust me, but he is not to be trusted at all.”

She looked at him in confusion, but answered, “I know that he was a friend of my mother in childhood. I never met him before I came to King's Landing. He tried to help my father during the...after King Robert died.”

“Did he tell you that?”

She blinked, her brows scrunching into concern. “He did. Is that not true?”

Varys sighed. “Your father made many mistakes. One of them was trusting Petyr Baelish. He was the one who betrayed your father to the Queen. Your father went to confront Cersei, believing Littlefinger and the gold cloaks were there to support him, but the gold cloaks slaughtered the remaining Stark men and it was Littlefinger that held a dagger to your father’s throat, causing him to surrender. I have reason to believe he was also involved in the death of Jon Arryn, the previous Hand.”

She looked out the window. The knowledge should shock her. After all, Baelish was a dear friend to her mother, and yet...she remembered how Littlefinger often glared at her father, how his honeyed words were calculated and how there were rumors about the man and her mother, rumors she knew to be false, simply because she knew her mother, rumors that the man himself perpetuated. “Lord Varys…”

“Yes, my lady?”

“I made Clegane promise not to do anything _foolish_ that would result in his death. It is a promise he will keep. At least, in regards to me.”

“Did you now?” he asked, intrigued.

“Yes. I thought it might be useful to you. As a thank you for the poison and for the truth. It’s the only thing I can offer you right now.” She looked down at the vial in her hands. Hardly used in these modern times when exotic poisons from Lys and Asshai were more “fashionable”, the dark blue liquid was said to have been used by a prince when he discovered his love was dead. At the time, she had thought it to be terribly romantic. Now, years later, she was about to do the same thing, drink the deadly poison for the one she loved, and it was still romantic, but much more sad than she had originally believed. Only the prince drank it to join his love in death, while she would be drinking it to save her love from seeing her be beheaded. _Hopefully._ There was still one last thing she wanted to do. She was pleasantly surprised when Varys agreed to help.

Varys entertained her with stories of his home country, little anecdotes that gave away nothing of his past. Soon, Sandor returned with a septon and two septas. He and Varys stood outside the cell, waiting until the inspection was done. It was an uncomfortable procedure, but all three of them were kind and did their best to make it quick. Before they could leave, she said, “Pardon me, but could I have a few moments of your time?”

**********

Sandor glared at the septa that ran out of the room. The second septa and the septon walked out more calmly. “Excuse me, Ser Clegane, the lady wishes a word with you.”

“Not a ser,” he growled as he walked into the cell. Varys stayed behind to speak to the two religious folks.

Sandor stopped. Her hair was caught up in sunlight as she gazed out the window, blazing as brilliantly as any flame he’d normally shy away from. He approached her slowly.

“You wished to see me, little bird?”

She turned to him. “Yes. I have something to ask you, and you can say no. I do realize it is more than a bit selfish on my part, but…” She chewed on her bottom lip nervously. “I wish to marry before I leave this world.”

Sandor felt like he had been punched in the stomach. _Marry?? To who?!_

He could see her eyes catch the sight of his clenched fists. She turned her gaze to the ground. “Like I said, if you do not want to, I will accept your refusal without prejudice. I still love you, and cannot fault you for not wanting to marry a woman who will die in the morning.”

“Wait, you want to marry _me?!”_ he asked incredulously.

She looked at him in confusion, “Who else would I want to marry?”

His face felt warm and he mumbled his words, “Can’t think of anyone else…” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “I don’t mind marrying you, little bird. Though how you plan to pull it off… Even your northern gods demand a ceremony in front of a heart tree, which will be difficult to get you too.”

She smiled her shy smile, “Do not worry. I was hopeful of a positive answer, and I spoke to the septon already.” She stepped to the cell door. “Septon Mertu? He agreed.”

“Wonderful!” the middle-aged man said, stepping back into the cell. “Septa Tryna has returned with the portable altars. We do not normally use them in the capital, but we do keep them on hand for emergency situations and in case a wandering septon needs a replacement when visiting. Now, stand here,” he directed them to the center of the room. “I will set this up here.” He set up the altar close to the window. “Now...Lord Varys and Septas Tryna and Merribelle will witness the union. Take her hands, young man, good. This will be the short version. In the sight of the Seven, let it be known that this man and this woman wish to unite in the sacred union of marriage. Let no one, man or otherworldly, come between them, until the Stranger parts them. Do you, Sandor of House Clegane, take this woman as your wife, to love, honor and cherish?”

“I do, until my dying day and most likely far beyond that,” he said. Sansa’s vision began to blur from tears as her heart skipped a beat.

“Do you, Sansa of House Stark, take this man as your husband, to love, honor and cherish?”

“I do, for all eternity,” she said. He squeezed her hands, his burnt side curling into a smile.

“Now for the changing of the cloaks, oh, um…” Sandor rolled his eyes at the septon, but unhooked his black cloak and placed it gently on Sansa’s shoulders. “Then by the power of the Seven and by the crown, I pronounce you man and wife. Kiss your bride to seal the promise.” The septon beamed at them.

Sandor leaned down and placed the lightest of kisses on her lips. He was holding back, she knew, and she was sorry that he had to, but it was enough that she was now Lady Clegane. Only, it wasn’t, and she desperately wanted everyone but Sandor to leave the cell. _A bedding would probably be too much to ask for…_

“Lady Sansa, we will take our leave of you. I will file your marriage with the sept immediately.” Septon Mertu gathered up the little altar. “Good day to you, Lord and Lady Clegane.” The two septas bowed and followed after him.

Varys bowed and said, “I, too, must be elsewhere. Clegane, if you don’t mind, would you please watch this highly dangerous prisoner for the next hour? And should she accidentally hurt herself, make sure it’s on the pallet bed, where the linens can easily be taken away and cleaned. The septon mentioned they have a fantastic new laundress who just works miracles.”

Sansa parsed the hidden message easily. _Looks like a bedding isn’t too much to ask for after all. Possibly even needed for whatever Varys is plotting._

“Of course, Lord Varys, it would be my honor,” Sandor said, the only hint past indifference was the twitching on the burnt corner of his mouth. Varys bowed again and left Sansa alone with her new husband.

“I’ve never taken a maiden before,” he admitted after a few minutes of kissing. She wasn’t completely surprised, since he had only had whores previously, and maidens were a rare and pricey commodity, if Shae was to be believed.

“Then I’m glad I will be your ‘first’,” she said with a grin. His nervousness eased a little as he laughed.

“Guess we’re both ‘maidens’ here,” he said lightly. He leaned in close, touching his forehead to hers. “I’ll do my best to lessen the pain for you, but…”

“I know. You would never hurt me, Sandor, not if you could avoid it. This is unavoidable, but I am happy that it is you who is doing it.” She looked him square in the eyes. “If it had to be anyone, you would still be my first choice.”

He swallowed hard, an array of emotions washing over his face. She saw happiness, confusion, doubt, but also hope. “We should probably get to it, we don’t have a lot of time,” he said. She nodded and turned so that he could undo the laces of her dress. She knew they didn’t need to undress completely, but he didn’t say anything about it. She wanted to feel her naked skin next to his, as if they were having a true bedding and not this rushed one. He kissed her shoulders as her dress loosened and exposed them. He helped her step out of the dress and placed it carefully to the side. She helped him remove his armor and boots before laying down on the pallet bed, using her elbows to prop her up so she could see him. She watched him with a sly smile as he removed his tunic and breeches. His manhood was only semi-hard, she noted. “Little bird likes to watch,” he murmured, finally completely naked.

“With a body like yours, why would I not?” she countered, eyeing him appreciatively. She blushed as she said it, but she didn’t want to hold anything back from him. Not now. She saw his face heat up unexpectedly and his manhood hardened completely. He had often appreciated her form from a distance. It never occurred to him that she might do the same, she supposed. _Would he have shown off a bit more if I had told him earlier?_ It pleased her to think that he would have. He knelt in between her legs.

“Little bird,” he said hesitantly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“I am yours, husband. Claim me,” she whispered into his ruined ear. She felt him shudder slightly. “Cold, husband?” she teased.

“No, little wench,” he growled into her ear, sending delightful shivers down her spine. “But I now understand what you meant about my voice,” he admitted. He kissed her neck, lapping and nipping at a spot that made her whimper and moan more. She felt his hand reach down between them, finding her very wet for him. “My little bird, so excited for your husband’s cock I see.” She should have felt embarrassed, but the pride in his voice offset any shame she may have felt otherwise. He stroked at the spot in her woman’s place with his thumb, the one that made her feel like she was flying.

She felt a pressure at her opening. It didn’t hurt, but because of Shae’s explanation of the marriage bed, she knew that the pain she would feel from the giving of her maidenhead wouldn’t come until he was completely inside her. Or at least more than what she currently felt. Then again, Shae had seemed very unsure of herself when she spoke of this, a contrast to her usual confidence on topics of this nature.

He was doing the same thing with his thumb that he had previously done with his tongue and it felt so good, she thought she might come undone from just that! She was breathing heavily, very unladylike, but she found that she didn’t care. She wanted Sandor to know how he made her feel. She wanted him to know she liked it. He seemed to enjoy knowing it, and that made her feel powerful, though not as powerful as when he came undone because of her. She moaned as he pushed his manhood into her slowly, then stopping, allowing her body to adjust. He kissed her and teased her to distract her from the pain he perceived her to have. It wasn’t much, if any, his distractions and slow progress helped in that regard, but also her physical readiness helped too, she thought. Shae had said if she was _aroused,_ the pain wouldn’t be as bad.

She thought she heard him counting softly in between kisses before pushing in again. From their activities the previous night, she knew his size, and was grateful that he was going slowly, but at the same time, he was kissing her and touching her _there_ and it was maddening and she wanted to _move,_ but she shouldn’t, but she _wanted_ to! She had an inkling of what she wanted, of what she needed, remembering how he had thrust into her hand, how he had looked above her, how he had made her feel, how she had been so close to heaven from his manhood rubbing against her. Would it feel even better once he was inside her and could thrust like he had last night? She hoped so. The pressure increased, but in a nice way and an awkward way, and then she felt it. _Ow, ow, ow, ow,_ she cringed. He stopped and kissed her brow.

“I’m sorry, little bird,” he whispered. “I’ll do it quick.” She held onto him tightly, allowing his warmth and strength to seep into her, her soft cheek pressed against his ruined one. “Breathe, little bird, breathe,” he said. “I need you to relax.” He petted her hair soothingly, waiting for her tension to ease. She’s grateful that she loves a man such as him, one who wouldn’t hurt her, who knows when to exercise patience even if he is not known for it, who genuinely cares for her and not for her claim or what she can do for him. Her body relaxes against him. The tearing of her maidenhead makes her cry out, but it is the relief of it not being there and not being the source of so many of her worries anymore that makes her cry and cling to him so fiercely that even the Stranger could not separate them. Sandor, not knowing this, continued to stroke her hair and whisper soft spoken words. “I’ve got you, little bird. I’ve got you.”

It took her a few moments to calm herself and wipe away the tears from her face. She kissed him softly, easing up on the death grip she had him in. “Forgive me, my love, I was overcome with emotion that does not belong in this space.” She looked at him lovingly and kissed him again. “I am ready to continue.”

“Little bird, we don’t have to, what we’ve done is enough to satisfy anyone that you have been properly wedded and bedded.” He looked chagrin about the prospect, but set in taking this course of action should she agree. It pleased her to know that he would sacrifice his own pleasure for her comfort, though it was unneeded and, frankly, unwanted. However, that didn’t mean she couldn’t tease him.

“Oh, I _suppose_ that’s alright then,” she said melodramatically. “It is not as if I _want_ to feel my husband move inside me, _thrust_ inside me, spill his seed _inside me,”_ she sighed. “No, really, it is a complete and utter _relief_ that _you_ do not want to continue.”

He growled at that. “Never said _I_ wanted to stop…”

She tried to suppress a smile as she ran her hand down and back up his muscled arm, “Really? I’m not sure I believe you.”

A twitch from the burnt side of his mouth, he had caught on to her teasing. “Oh, is that so?”

She rocked her hips slowly. It pleased her greatly when Sandor groaned. “I think you need to convince me, husband.”

“Little wench,” he growled, burying his face at her neck to elicit moans and groans from her as he kissed, licked and nibbled her throat and jaw.

The moment he begins to move in her is exquisite torture. It fuels her desire but it is also painful. Not as bad as her old septa would have had her believe, but still painful. It became easier as he continued. It wasn’t as good as their previous night, but it was quite enjoyable. He kissed her and kneaded her breast, his manhood brushing against that one spot that sent thrills through her. She felt his body stiffen a bit as he got closer, his movements becoming faster and more erratic. She clung to him again, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Before this whole debacle had started, Shae had warned her against doing that. “You do not want his seed in you,” she had said. Except that she did, had wanted it as soon as she heard her assignment, though at the time she would have denied it, as a proper lady would. _A little piece of Sandor to call my own, should it take root._ Now, the end of her life was near, and she would not die without giving her husband a proper bedding, where he would and _should_ be free to spill himself into her whenever he wanted, whenever she wanted. She would cry for the loss of their future together, but that would be later, when he was gone and couldn’t misinterpret her tears or feel guilty about them. For now, she just wanted him to love her and to feel her love for him.

“I am yours,” she whispered to him. “You are mine. I love you, Sandor. Never forget that.”

**********

Varys came back to collect Sandor as promised. He left with the blood stained linen, but left behind clean ones, as well as a quill, ink, and parchment. “In case you would like to write any words to leave behind,” he said.

She didn’t need to think about who to write to, only how to disguise it so as not to endanger him. She had not told him of the sweet poison, but she could at least apologize.

_My dearest love…_


	4. Fuck The King

He couldn’t go back to his room and sleep, knowing she would be executed in the morning. He made his way to a small tavern near the Street of Steel, alone with his thoughts. _My wife. My life. My world. How does she expect me to live on without her? I swore to her that I would, and I will. Hells, I’ll even try to find happiness, so that when I do see her in the afterlife, she won’t be disappointed. But I seriously doubt I’ll find anyone who can love me like she somehow managed to do. I don’t think I want to._

He entered the Fancy Lady Tavern and Inn. He had discovered the place more than a fortnight ago, and had hoped to bring Sansa here one day. The proprietor, and head baker, of the establishment was well known for her lemon cakes. He wished fervently that he had thought to at least bring her some of the sweet treat, but had held out hope that they could come here together. Jeyne Lynn, the owner, greeted him as he walked in, carrying a tray of dirty dishes to the back. Her blonde hair was tied up in a loose knot, though some locks were escaping.

“E’vnin’ Hound. What can I get you? Usual?” she asked cheerfully. He nodded and sat down at a table near the kitchens. It was late, and most of their clientele had gone home already, leaving the tavern empty except for the few drunks who had passed out on the other side of the room. The serving girl, Victoria Hanah, brought out his ale and meal, a bowl of stew and a half loaf of bread. The stew smelled heavenly, but Sandor was only able to stare at it and move it around with his spoon.

“Something wrong, Hound?” Victoria asked. She sat across the table, and squinted up at him, a bad habit she had due to poor eyesight. They had gotten to know each other in the time he spent here, and she reminded him of his sister at times like this. He looked over at her. Her shoulder length brown hair was done up in braids, different from the other times he had seen her.

“You going out to see your fella?” he asked, completely ignoring her question.

She frowned at him and nodded. “He gets off shift in about an hour.” She watched him stare at his stew a little longer. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Who says anything’s wrong?” he grumbled, finally taking a bite. He heard Jeyne scoff. She had been watching and listening to them from her spot at the bar as she cleaned. She strode over, leaned onto the table with one hand, her other resting on her hip. She could be intimidating when she wanted to be.

“You love that damn stew. Normally, you’d be halfway done by now, but that was your first bite. Now, come on, we don’t have all night.”

Victoria leaned in further. “Stop being a maiden about it. What’s got your smallclothes in a twist?”

Another reason she reminded him strongly of his sister. She was like a bullish dog when it suited her. Her employer too, when she set her mind to it. “I got married tonight.”

They both raised an eyebrow. He would have laughed if his mood wasn’t so sour. Victoria spoke first. “So… congratulations? Or not, if you’re here instead of with your wife.”

“She’s to be executed in the morning. The only female willing to marry my sorry hide and she’s going to die at first light. King’s orders.” He sighed and ate more.

Victoria leaned in further and whispered, “So kill the king and rescue her.” Jeyne nodded her agreement.

“Anyone else hears you and you’ll be executed for treason. Besides, she made me promise not to do anything foolish that would result in my death.” Another bite and an angry tear at the bread.

Victoria mulled over this. “So kill the king in an unfoolish manner that doesn’t get you caught, and rescue your fair maiden. Why is this hard?”

_“Because--”_ He stopped. Why did this have to be hard? Even if he couldn’t save Sansa, he could still avenge her. Really, it was the least he could do for her. Victoria left him with his thoughts, smiling smugly as Jeyne went back to cleaning.

**********

A hand over her mouth startled her into consciousness. The torches had burnt out and the only light from outside was concealed by clouds. “Sweetling,” she heard, the scent of mint overpowering all else. _Baelish._

She tapped his hand gently, indicating she would not scream. He let her go.

“Sweetling, come with me. I can get you out of here. I will hide you in the Vale with your aunt. I am due to go up there in a few days time.”

“Why?” she asked.

“To save your life, of course,” he said patiently.

“No, I mean, why save my life, when you condemned my father to die?” she asked just as patiently. “Why would you expect me to trust you when _you_ are a primary reason my father is gone and unable to protect me himself?”

“I...I did everything I could for your father. The gold cloaks--”

“Did your bidding. They were paid for with your coin, were they not?” It was a wild guess, to be sure, but the sharp intake of breath told her she had hit the mark. “I would advise you to leave, Lord Baelish. Or else I will start screaming for the guards.”

“I could just take you with me, without your permission.”

“You could. But I would kill you the first chance I get. On my honor as my father’s daughter, I will put a knife to your throat and open it.” Her voice was like ice.

“A-as you wish, Lady Sansa,” Baelish said before withdrawing into the darkness.

**********

She woke again to the dawn’s rays gently streaming into her tower cell. Sansa had slept better than she would have expected. The vial of poison was now in her hand, her note to Sandor in the other. Soon, the guards would be here to escort her to the throne room for her execution. She knelt and clasped her hands together one last time. _Please, do not let Joffrey desecrate my body. Watch over Sandor, let him find love again,_ she prayed before drinking.

**********

Sandor stood at his usual place next to the king. It had not escaped his notice that none of the Tyrells were there, nor was Lord Tywin, but that might have had more to do with the patriarch’s general disgust with the whole affair. The little shit was much too gleeful for Sandor’s liking.

It brought the larger man great pleasure to imagine his steel sinking into the soft belly of the king, the look of surprise he would have from the betrayal, the warm blood spilling out with the guts. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing Sansa’s execution, but he would be strong. For her sake. For her, he would do just about anything. For her, his blade stayed in its scabbard. For her, he did not kill the king right here, right now. For her, he wouldn’t foolishly throw his life away. So he stayed his hand, and thought about his plot. He had a plan to avenge her, but it would take some time since he would be following her rules. Her wish, his command. If she wanted him to live, then he would live damn it and he would try to find happiness, _but_ the king would die by his hand, one way, or another. As long as it didn’t end in his own death, he felt he would satisfy his promise to her. He wasn’t sure his plan would work, that he wouldn’t end up dead, but he was taking precautions. Varys had hinted that he might be able to help. Whatever plan the eunuch had, Sandor didn’t care.

The guards entered the throne room. He steeled himself against the emotions he knew he would feel when he saw her enter. It was the only thing that helped him keep his composure.

“Where is the prisoner?” Joffrey demanded in his whiny, shrill voice. _Didn’t his balls drop already? Why is he still so...girlish?_ Sandor asked himself.

The head guard stepped forward and bowed low. “Your grace, we went to retrieve the prisoner, but she was already...gone.”

Sandor’s heart lept up as Joffrey’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “She _escaped?!”_

“No, your grace. She is dead.” Sandor wasn’t sure how he was able to keep standing there, but his heart plummeted. “There was a vial in her hand, poison, most likely. Her body is with the Silent Sisters already. She left a note.” The man held a piece of parchment up to the king.

Joffrey slouched back on the throne. “Read it.”

“Um, it’s quite personal, your grace. Perhaps…”

“I said, READ IT.”

The guard cleared his throat. “My dearest love, please forgive me for taking this way out. I could not stand the thought of you seeing me executed like a common criminal. I kept this poison on my person at all times, in case of a dire situation. Please know that I love you dearly, and that I pray for your happiness. I am yours, forever and beyond death.”

_I am yours, you are mine. I love you, Sandor._ Her final promise.

Sandor turned his head, though he noted that he was not the only person who suddenly had “dust” in their eyes. Even Cersei looked away to hide her emotions.

“So the bitch turned coward. Ugh, fine. Varys!” Joffrey called.

“Yes, your grace.” The eunuch seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Traitor blood does not belong in the Great Sept of Baelor. Instruct the Sisters that they may use the common sept in the Red Keep for the displaying of the body. However, I want her head for a pike.”

_Damn you, Joffrey._

“Your grace, I would advise against that,” the eunuch said gently, his voice was low so that the court could not hear him. “The people are already talking about the reason she was to be executed. She had been working with Lady Margaery after the Battle to help rebuild King’s Landing. Her kindness and beauty is known far and wide among the smallfolk. They may riot again if it becomes known that you ordered her body desecrated.”

“Yes, Joffrey, and the girl loved you even to her death,” the queen added. “Surely that has earned her a reprieve from a pike.”

Sandor’s grip tightened on his sword. Her words were for him and him alone, but everyone would assume they were empty words for Joffrey. _Let them think that, but fuck, I hate it. Her words, her love are mine. Remember that, dog._

Joffrey pouted. _Grow the fuck up, boy._ “Fine, no head on a spike. I’ll not be assigning a vigil for her of the knights though. Have some of the servants do it. Dog, stand with them, make sure they don’t shirk their duty.”

“Of course, your grace.” _You fuckin’ little cunt._

“Clegane doesn’t need to watch them, Joffrey,” Cersei protested.

“It’s fine, your grace,” Sandor said in a bored tone. “Guarding the Stark girl was always one of my easier duties. I don’t mind doing it one final time.”

Joff scoffed, “If you feel like that, then just take the entire watch for her by yourself.”

Sandor bowed, “As you command, your grace.”

**********

Sandor approached the altar she had been placed on. Her skin was even more pale now, the moonlight giving her an eerie quality. She was still beautiful. His perfect little bird. He was going to miss her damn courtesies most of all. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on her cold lips. “I love you, too, Sansa,” he whispered. “Goodbye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me...vengeance is coming.


	5. Careful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a little early (just an hour) because I'm tired and my bed is calling me...

Sandor stood in the office of the new master of coin. It had been two months since Sansa had passed. Her body had been transported to Riverrun right after his three day vigil had ended. He had spent several nights after that getting rip roaring drunk and starting more than a few fights on his way back to the Keep. He had considered abandoning his post to make the trip with her, but his need for vengeance was great. After indulging in his anger and sorrow for more than half a sennight, he sobered up and put his plan into action. It required patience and subtle nuances to get where he needed to be and now, he was finally in a position where he could implement his plan with the least amount of suspicion. Tonight, the king would die. At least he would, unless the man in front of him had anything to say about it. The Imp was sitting in silence.

“Do you know why I called you here?” he finally asked.

“Can’t say that I do.” Sandor remained as impassive as ever. Tyrion watched him carefully with his mismatched eyes. The scar over his nose wasn’t as bad as he had heard. Once kitchen maid had said it had been cut clean off.

“The Spider says you have plans to kill the king.”

“Odd thing for him to say,” was Sandor’s reply.

“Considering he was the cause of your lady wife’s death, it’s not very surprising.” Sandor raised an eyebrow at that. “Varys advised me to check the sept’s logs for recent weddings. I knew you were in love with the girl, but I never realized she cared for you as well. Gives me hope that I might find someone as well.” Tyrion shrugged. Sandor debated on asking him about the insolent handmaiden, but refrained. None of his business who the Imp fucked, though the chit had been sent with Sansa’s body to Riverrun along with a full escort, and he had no idea if she would be returning. “I’m not going to throw you in the black cells, if that’s what you are worried about. I won’t be stopping you either. My nephew has become more trouble than he’s worth. Ever since Sansa died, he’s become worse. The people fear for their lives. If I could take away his crown without killing him, I’d rather do that, but I am unable to do so. Varys agrees that Tommen would be much more suitable, more controllable. I do want to ask, what do you plan to do after?”

“Hadn’t thought about that.”

Tyrion tilted his oversized head. “Would you like to stay on with Tommen?”

“He’s a good boy, but no, not particularly.”

“Would you leave?”

“Possibly. Nowhere to go though.”

Tyrion chuckled. “You could travel. To the Free Cities, or further. A sword like yours, you could easily join one of the sellsword companies. Or you could join your wife’s family in the war.”

“Tired of fighting. Besides, they don’t know about the marriage. They would think me a spy for your family.”

“Retirement then?” Tyrion asked.

“Again, nowhere to go. I don’t own land. Don’t want Clegane Keep, even if Gregor were dead.”

“There’s always the Wall.”

Sandor thought about that. Sansa’s half brother was up there, but men who joined abandoned the families they had. Became a new family of brothers. “Possibly. Probably.”

“Well, then, if that’s what you want, I’ll provide you with supplies to make the journey. You’ll need to stay on for a little while after...but no more than a fortnight.”

“You’re fine with...with the idea of your nephew dying?” Sandor asked suspiciously. Tyrion smiled sadly.

“No, not really, but Varys is right. Joffrey will do more damage alive. He’s been careful with Margaery, but even she is starting to catch his ‘attentions’. If he hurts her, we lose the Tyrells, he’ll be dead anyway by Loras’ hand, and right now, we need them more than we need a vicious king. Just...don’t make it too messy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sandor said before bowing and leaving.

**********

Sandor stood watch at the king’s chamber door with Boros. It wasn’t long before the king was calling for one of them. Boros eyed Sandor, then jerked his head towards the door, indicating that Sandor was supposed to go see what Joffrey wanted. Sandor snorted at him, but went inside.

“You called, your grace?” Sandor asked.

“I heard something. Check the room. Make sure there are no assassins. Bring me some wine as well.” Joffrey was becoming more paranoid these days. Even the smallest sound and he thought it was an assassin. Sandor had been leaving behind carefully placed evidence and making offhand remarks about “odd” goings ons to achieve that effect. Varys had supplied additional whispers in the king's ear as well, and had given Sandor a few suggestions. He picked up a wine goblet, discreetly dumped the sleeping powder he had acquired into the cup, and filled it with wine, waiting for it to fully dissolve before taking it to the king. Joffrey downed the entire thing before Sandor took a step away. The boy tossed the goblet back at Sandor. “Now check the room,” he demanded, his eyes already drooping just a bit. The sleeping powder was supposed to be quick, but Sandor began to check the room as he waited. He found the piece of metal he had set up to scrape against the stone wall when the wind hit it just right. Pocketing it, he turned back to the now sleeping king.

Approaching the bed slowly, he checked to make sure Joffrey was well and truly asleep. He was tempted to slap him to test it, but settled for shaking the boy. _He’s nearly twenty years, and he’ll never be more than a petulant boy,_ Sandor thought morosely. He pulled out the hidden dagger from his boot and slipped the sharp blade into Joffrey’s side. Tucking the boy in, Sandor left the blade where it was. It was well hidden by the blankets, and it would take longer for him to bleed out. He wasn't sure on the exact time frame. Boros would do a check later, and Joffrey should still be alive, but with the careful placement of the blade, he would be dead by the time morning came. Sandor returned to his post. Around the hour of the wolf, Boros went in, did his check, then came back out.

“Find any snarks or grumpkins?” Sandor sneered. Boros actually chuckled at that.

“No, king’s snoring must have scared them off.” The pudgy knight kept chuckling about the snarks for several minutes afterwards. Sandor wondered if the king was actually snoring or if Boros had mistaken dying breaths for it. It made no difference, however.

He and Boros were relieved by Loras and Meryn several hours after that. Sandor had an hour’s sleep before the call to arms came in. He dressed quickly, running to the king’s chambers with the other kingsguard and castle knights. Cersei was beside herself. The blanket was thrown back. The blood had seeped through the bedding and was dripping to the floor. The grand maester was checking the king’s body, but every experienced fighter could see it. The king was dead. The burnt side of Sandor's mouth twitched into a small smile that went unnoticed by the others. _Promise kept, little bird._


	6. First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life

Tommen had hugged him when he said he would be leaving. His bride, Margaery, bid him goodbye, though she wasn’t able to look him in the face for more than was considered polite.

Cersei had dismissed all of the kingsguard. New ones had been handpicked by Tyrion and Varys. Sandor hadn’t known Tommen very well, but he hoped that the boy would become a better king than Joffrey. He also wondered when Cersei would realize she had freed her brother from his kingsguard duties as well.

True to his word, the Imp had a cart ready for him, full of supplies, and Varys had given him a list of people who would be willing to house him if he didn’t want to spend the coin for an inn. He could only assume they were some of the Spiders “birds” and had no plans to see any of them. He wondered if he should tell the bastard Jon Snow about Sansa and her time in King’s Landing as he made the slow crawl to the snowy North.


End file.
